


Puncture wounds

by katiebuttercup



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, I'm doing this until Moonlighten tells me to stop, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotland tries out an apology and England makes a decision no one is happy with</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonlighten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighten/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Five Dates that Weren't, and One that Was](https://archiveofourown.org/works/630740) by [moonlighten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighten/pseuds/moonlighten). 



> I know the dates are a little skewered but it is done for the narrative structure 
> 
> This is set after America's birthday when England and America slept together but the conversation between them ended very differently. 
> 
> America doesn't know about the "joke" until the morning after his birthday when Wales lets him know that's why England freaked out  
> Please someone volunteer to be a beta reader. Please.

Disclaimer: I own nothing 

 

Scotland pauses on the threshold of England's bedroom, watching his younger sister bustle around, filling a small suitcase that sits on her bed spread.

He waited until England acknowledged him, knowing that her nation sense as well as the sibling bond between them would alert her of his presence although he wasn't sure what he would say when she did. He and Wales had taken to "breaking" into England's home ever so often, and so it was no longer a surprise for England to find her brothers in her living room.

Apologising was a foreign concept to him, and apologising to England of all people was almost unthinkable but it was unavoidable. 

He had heard of the fallout of America's birthday from Wales and had braced himself for the inevitable backlash when England took her revenge but as the days turned to weeks he was forced to come to the conclusion that England wasn't angry or wasn't just angry but hurt. 

It felt like a long time since he had thought of England even having feelings, been longer since he had consciously though of her as his little sister. He didn't care if he hurt England but his sister....that was different.

He wondered how much England had missed out on because of some stupid joke, certainly England had had her fair share of admirers, many were fleeting but he knew some like Portugal and Belgium had been serious in their intentions. 

He realised now that perhaps that was why England had always kept herself aloof, for fear that she would become close to someone and would be forced into an untenable position that she didn't even know didn't exist. 

But England wasn't just letting it rule her past but it was potentially ruining her future, using her embarrassment as a wall to keep everyone away, her subsequent conversation with America, which if Scotland had heard right had firmly put their night under the banner of a drunken one night stand that they should forget. 

"What do you want Alba?" England asked as she straightened, her hand rubbing the small of her back as she did so. 

Scotland raised the can of lager he held in his hand. 

"Six nations, Wales is downstairs, figured I'd come get you while their still bullshitting."

England closed the suitcase, and hauled it off the bed, it landed with a thump on the floor. 

"I'm not stopping, I've got a conference with Monika" 

Scotland frowned, "You just got back two days ago. You always take the six nations off" 

"Not this time," England said, laying a briefcase on top of the suitcase, she took a long look around the room, obviously making sure that she had everything before her trip. 

"England." Scotland placed his hands onto the handle go the suitcase so that England would have to shove him off if she wanted it back. But Scotland was ready, anything was better than this stoic ness. 

"You can't keep running away."

England's eyes blazed but her tone was still cold, "I am not running away." She enunciated each word. "I am getting on with my life. You told me to shit or get off the pot so I did."

She wrenched the handle and the suitcase lurched under Scotland's hands forcing him to take a step back. 

Scotland barely missed being run over by the little trolley wheels as England turned around towards the door. Abruptly she turned back, "oh and tell Wales thank you for letting America in on the joke, if my actions weren't embarrassing enough that just finished it off. I hope you all had a good laugh." 

"No one was laughing at you! I didn't even know you still believed us till that night at the pub." 

England shut her eyes, and the horrible feeling in Scotland's stomach spread to clutch around his heart, was England crying?

England opened he eyes, there were no tears there but there was a tiredness and a darkness he hadn't seen since the war. 

"You know what, you were right. We should all just go our separate ways and not get involved with each other's lives." 

"I think it's a bit late for that," Wales said at the doorway. His face was neutral but Scotland read the concern on his brothers face as they locked eyes over England's head. 

"I thought you were apologising," Wales said to Scotland. 

"I did!" Scotland retorted, "She's being unreasonable." 

England took the moment between the brothers to push past Wales and begin the trek down the stairs. 

"You'd better replace any tea or food you eat when I get back!" England shouted as she reached the next floor. "And France is not welcome here! I'm not replacing another set of linen!" 

The door slammed shut, Scotland turned to his brother. "That's why you don't send me to apologise to England," 

Wales settled on the end of the bed. "What are we going to do?"

Scotland sobered, "I dunno, France said America is staying with him for the next round of meetings apparently he's pretty pissed off and confused." 

Wales sighed, "I don't want to be a fly on the wall when they all meet up for the next round of meetings"

"Been and gone. They were perfectly civil, It drove France pretty mad."

"Maybe it's for the best," Wales said at last. 

Scotland raised an eyebrow, "you don't believe that any more than I do." 

"No, I don't"

End

 

Man this is a weird ending, I don't like it.


	2. Clean slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing with a clean slate is that no matter how much you clean it you still see what's underneath

Chapter summary from "dollhouse" that belongs to joss whedon 

 

Set directly after puncture wounds

England doesn't take an even breath until the train is chugging languorously through the countryside. England turns her head to watch the countryside whizz past finding comfort in the mesh of colour that blurs past. 

The first class carriage is empty and England feels the weight of her loneliness press against her. When she is sad she relies on the company of her people, they keep her going. During the war their combined focus and will kept her standing long after she physically felt able. 

But here she is alone. She supposes it's strangely fitting. 

She is looking forward to spending the weekend with Monika at least; unlike many other nations Monika keeps to her own business and out of others affairs. England is assured of a weekend that is full of business. She won't be forced to relate what happened at America's birthday party or to give an explanation. 

It's bad enough Francis will be present, even if it's just got the first day of the meetings, but with his own chequered love life that has only just begun to sort itself out England is fairly sure that France won't be making a crack about her. In the mood she is in she could likely start an international incident. 

In the silence England has no other option but to go over everything. Again. It is as if her mind enjoys torturing her, perhaps punishing her heart for still feeling so much even now. England has always been too smart for her own good. 

Especially since America seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing and the idea of the conversation that had tormented England up to their very stiff lunch nearly a month after the fact had seemed to go over the younger nations head with little fanfare. If England had read him right he'd even seemed bored by the conversation, and England realised her initial assessment that America had viewed their night together as nothing more than a one night stand had been right. 

It had made lying easier. 

Besides, the logical part of her mind told her, what exactly had she lost? She was in exactly the same place she was in before July except now she had some vague sensations that were little more then a blur of a drunken night. It wasn't the stuff dreams were made of. England was better off cutting her losses with the modicum of self respect she had left. 

She has overcome everything else in her long life and while she is well aware that not only her extended family are aware of something intrinsically private and painful but America knows and that burns. 

She hopes that they all have had a good long laugh at her expense. 

She curls her legs up underneath her despite the sign that expressly tells her not to, which England usually scrupulously obeys but right now she needs comfort and its unlikely she'll find it in her family. No, England had long ago realised that there was no one to pick up her up but herself and she'd got increasingly good at it over the centuries. 

She wipes her face, happy that her skin is dry. 

It feels good, in a way that doesn't put a dent in her pain or her damaged pride but after years of holding her breath England finally feels like she can breath, or at least begin to try again. She understands now what Scotland meant now when he said that making a decision however painful had been a relief, she hadn't believed him then, breaking up with France had obviously knocked him for six and she herself had become used to the constant disappointment that change had seemed impossible. 

If she were honest she was jealous of her brother, he had thrown the dice and had won, Francis had come through, albeit centuries late. 

England had thrown the dice and lost. 

But at least now she knew she was ready to throw the dice again.


End file.
